


To find happiness

by EriWhatever



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: After heartbreak, Cirilla is smart af, Cursed Jaskier, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Fucking Djinn, M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, We hate you, You are the worst part, djinn, the little mermaid references all over the place, to find happiness, very sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22677058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EriWhatever/pseuds/EriWhatever
Summary: This is the story of how a humble bard lost something precious to untie destinies and find happiness along the way."His next ballad was just about how much that beautiful but crazy lady could destroy his… friendship with her sweet kiss. And people suddenly loved the song, the broken hearted Bard, ladies wanted to comfort him on their laps- or their skirts more accurately. But still the life of food, women and wine wasn’t enough..."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 76





	1. Lose to find

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to:
> 
> A:My love, my fiance and the beautiful editor of this crap. You are the best and definitely this wouldn't be here without you.  
> B/M: You are my friend, probably the best one I have, thanks for encouraging me to write this and let me ramble a lot.  
> Discord pepole: You rock pepole, you make me drink water and laugh all the time, so thank to you too.

~~

He was certainly bitter after the fight (not even fight because he didn’t have a chance to say ANYTHING) so let's call it: One-sided, Geralt screaming just because of that mage. He was bitter with the mage, with destiny, with the djinn, with everything. Hell to the day that they crossed Yennefer of Vergerbeg, and his stupid Witcher decided to intertwine their paths forever.

The Bard wasn't an unforgiving person, but that exact incident left him hurt, so hurt that his next ballad was just about how much that beautiful but crazy lady could destroy his… friendship with her sweet kiss. And people suddenly loved the song, the broken hearted Bard, ladies wanted to comfort him on their laps- or their skirts more accurately. But still the life of food, women and wine wasn’t enough; he missed the trill, he missed the rush of blood and adrenaline of the screams and iron in the air. He missed the battle, the songs, the grunting, having something else to sing than just sad and tearful songs that would bring every woman, and occasionally some men, to warm his bedsheets at night.

He wanted something back from his suffering, because being a punchbag was fine as soon as he deserved it, as soon as he got something back, but being a punchbag for someone else’s mistakes, for someone else stupidity as he was trying his best, that sucked, and he was not going to accept it glady not this time. Because he meant it when he said “let’s go to the coast” even if he really didn’t know what he meant more than “let’s escape this craziness for a while” and he really didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to make his stomach ache for someone who clearly didn’t want him there. 

Then the occasion came as the coin did, on a busy tavern near the sea, where you could smell the salt in the morning, and the refined alcohol at night. Today was one of those days where a humble bard would make the crowd laugh and singalong, were even the saddest or sweetest ballads made the crowd tap on their tables, and follow the beat. It was ideal, one of those nights when he would go to bed with a nice commoner, spend it without over thinking, just him and whoever, but obviously it had to have been ruined, when he heard that horrible word at the back of his ear. 

As he took a break and purposely placed his ale next to the man, he knew that he looked sketchy but the word “djinn” had already caught him in the gossip before he even sat down. How much he hated that, how much he hated that freaking wishy bottled ghost that ruined his life, and hearing that men talk was even worse. Bad tongues said that a Djinn was hidden in the forest nearby, a witch, cursed forever left it to the next fool. This man, like every other man walking the continent, planned to use it for his own proffit, hurting his enemies, for selfish reasons: another life destroyed thanks to a bad wish. 

Before leaving the empty jar over the table and going back to his song, the Bard said to himself that if any brute on the road could use it to ruin someone's life, he could use it to solve his. And fuck the fake destinies and his bad luck, fuck the mourn and the guilt, he wanted a happy life, and wanted to play, and if on the way he could make a certain pain in his arse banish-- then better. 

After a good payment, and a few more songs, he slept tightly in the room. And out of the excitement of a new adventure, he even rejected a companion for the night,, all he wanted was to close his eyes against the gently itchy wool, and wait for a new day. Surprisingly he made it all night with no nightmares, no wakes,or savory drinks coming back on his mouth after too much-- and at dawn, like an early bird, he found himself freshly awake and wearing his boots to breakfast. 

For once his loyal lute was left behind in the inn room, in place of a knife. He got it a few months ago, obviously paid by one of his patrons, they said he didn’t really need a knife, but he insisted on how its beautiful damask would always remind him of her eyes: which, was absolute bullshit but it worked to make her lose the coin always. Usually the fine weapon rested inside his boots or his belt to keep him safe from trouble on the way, but today he held tight on to it. He didn’t really know how effective that would be against a Djinn but better safe than sorry, since his last encounter was less than pleasant. 

He took to the road lost, wondering if he would really find it, if thingswould play in his favour, after all, the forest was vast and he didn’t even know where to begin looking. But he was going to let his gut guide him, singing a soft song acapella, enjoying the wind, the memories of fresh moss and cold on his skin. Just like old times when the Witcher and he would walk together and he would lean on the comfort of his companion. Somehow the White Wolf wasn’t that bad even if he didn’t talk, and was rude and insufferable sometimes, but also kind, kind like… dog kind, not person kind. Jaskier was sure that on some cold nights, he would slip himself another blanket in his sleep, or give him the biggest part of the meal when they clearly both were starving. And even if he didn’t listen, was a complete brute, and was more willing to talk to his horse than Jaskier himself, Geralt of Rivia could be also kind. 

His mind shifted, distracted with thoughts of the Witcher, how long since he hadn’t thought of him, how long since he hadn’t gotten lost in trying to figure out what animal those eyes resembled, or if his hair was white snow or grey steel.Or on how he could rhyme such a fierce persona to make it sound beautiful on the ears of the audience. Even if he didn’t stop brooding, and growling, somehow the songs made their way through that and the word spread, making the brute become mysterious, even attrahh… 

Jaskier wasn’t able to end the thought before his face was planted into the mud. His feet betrayed him within his fancy boots, and his whole body irredeemably ended up on the floor. There goes his outfit, full of dirt and plants, and something that smelled terrible, that he didn’t even want to know what it was-- but more alarming was the pain along his brow, and the warmth rolling down his face. 

Oh no… no no no…. Dammit! Broken! A broken eyebrow! That's the least beautiful thing that could happen to his face! Damn adventures, wishes, and magic! And like that it hit him, more like he hit it, with his face, an ugly bottle. Who just tosses trash on the floor? He grabbed the bottle and was about to throw it as far as his minimal muscle would allow, when something caught his eye. A sigily thing on the cork, twisted lines and... Melitele he would recognize that shit anywhere, the magic radiating the once wine container.

He, Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove,had found a Djinn by himself, without the help of any witch or witcher and without… well without any major injuries. 

~

Okay but now what? He needed to think carefully, wishes are not free-- he acknowledged that at least, he did know that the way you ask, is the way you save your life from a djinn. Popular was that those were tricksters, playful monsters that twist your wishes, and slap you on the face with plenty of side effects like a snowball rolling down a mountain, becoming bigger and bigger until it squeezes you to an inevitable death. 

He headed back to the inn, the djin’s bottle in his sack , covered in mud, and so bloody faced that the innkeeper nearly didn’t let him back into his room taking him to be some provincial brat. But once solved, he made it to take a warmth bath; the mud and blood leaving his face to reveal a gentle scar across his left eyebrow, making him let out a soft sigh. What is there to do now? It was already done, having paid a djinn in blood itself. He dipped his head into the water letting the warmth banish his thoughts before thinking of the wishes again.

He was sure he wanted Geralt’s wish to be over, but how was he to ask so it didn’t blow-up in his face? “Come on Jaskier! You are good with words!” Maybe a good way was to ask for the curse to be over? But was it even a curse? I mean for Yennefer obviously yes... She couldn't be more displeased with being attached to the witcher, which was sincerely understandable; not having free will even if it was next to a handsome witcher kind of sucked, and Geralt of Rivia wasn’t exactly a gentleman. 

“I wish for Yennefer of Vengerberg to recover her freewill.” 

That sounded about correct. As soon as he popped the bottle he felt a cutting wind through his arm and gentle bleeding. “Son of… “ He had to control his words before he accidentally wished for something wrong. Suddenly he felt it, the urgency and anger of a beast trapped against their will, by a spell. 

“Two wishes more Jaskier, think.”

All he wanted to do was to perform. What to wish? He wanted that soft discomfort to disappear from his chest, would performing make that go away? His happiest moments were when people tagged along, or when a new story would pop up in front of his eyes leading to new music on his mouth. 

The djinn furiously clashed against his skin, not hard enough to hurt him badly but enough to bruise him, pressing him to just make his wishes and set them free. The djinn pushed against the air, making the water softly splash. 

“FINE! I want to always have someone who I can perform to.”

His arm was slashed again. “Son of a magic being!” that hurt, why couldn’t they just grant him the wishes? No! They had to mark him down like a cow to be slaughtered. He left the bath annoyed, looking at his body a little roughed-up. That’s the last thing he ever expected, to end up bruised and slashed and with his face broken, what a terrible look. 

The wind pushed him again, making him stumble. Oh damn! He was being brutalized by some sort of whatever, if it kept going like that he would end up looking like the witcher. 

That thought made a pit in his stomach, as if he had swallowed a heavy rock. 

Now what? He broke the spell, but the spell had barely anything to do with the Witcher and him at all, he might never see him again. What if he was right, what if he was just a bother, just a pain in the neck, always with his stories, always talking, making them go to inns, making him spend more money, what if it wasn’t about Yennefer, or about being mad, what if he was just sincere? He felt so miserable…

“I just want to find happiness, it’s not that much to ask for.” 

And once said, another slash appeared on his arm, and the wild wind left from the room leaving the unsteady water behind, sign that his wishes were fulfilled and the entity was free again. He wanted to curse, just a fuck for ruining his last wish, but nothing came out his mouth. 

How bad could wishing for happiness be? He was alive, the curse broken, still in an inn, with a good coin and someone to perform too. He didn’t mean to wish for it, but how could you twist happiness to ruin it. Maybe he was short on a marble for not noticing, but he did a second later, when he tried to complain about the messy room nothing came out. And then he tried again. And again. He wanted to scream… and again… 

Blessed silence.

~~


	2. Crossing paths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! 
> 
> I want to deeply apologize for taking so long, COVID got my mental health destroyed, I'm unable to focus as much as I would like to on this. 
> 
> Also the second apology my Beta Reader is unfortunately super busy so this episode will not be as fine as the one before, yet I made a huge effort so I hope it makes you happy, stay tuned for more.

A silent bard, the word spread as the lute strings were gently plucked. The songs were soft and gentle, sad, ballads that could be lullabies, a whole new concept of music itself. Like a gentle touch of wind on your face, cleaning your tears but letting you cry on them. Wordless, the music would fill the inns as the peasants now used to sing, to laugh, to clap on it, just listen, just let the music take their pains away as if it was a spell. 

Jaskier was already famous but with the gossip of his voice missing, the new type of song, people did come from all over the continent to hear him play. But he couldn't stop thinking that probably was his wish.

“I want to always have someone who I can perform to.”

~~

Just when he learned that the monster took his voice with him, things seemed destined to end. He wondered if he was scammed by a djinn if that was even possible because he was a lot of things but not happy. The life of a bard was his voice, and without that, there was no way he was going to find a way to quiet that pit in his chest.

Yet with always having someone to perform to, a little baby crying for a lullaby, some woman knitting, and signing without any instruments, his paths weren’t as depressing, yet he could not say he was happy. 

The roads and inns turned out more dangerous, Bulgars knowing that he had money, but couldn't scream, found him an easy target, and paid for it more than once or twice sadly. On the first weeks silent, he could barely sleep on the bed, but after a while, his ear sharpened, he learned the difference between lazy, drunk, sleepy steps, from purposely quiet ones. His knife slept now under the pillow ready to be grabbed at any sudden move, he trained how to move, how to act, how to become a threat more than a cheerful bard on the road, and even like that he never lost that characteristic smile, that wanting to think good o you first, because yeah there was a lot of bad, but not everyone was like that.  
___

Paths like life turn in weird ways, faith plays you like a toy, no matter how much you hide from it, it comes back to you, and like the child of surprise, music was meant to find that bloody witcher. He was so done already, so done with music, so done with ~toss a coin to your witcher~ always off tone, always wrong, never Jaskier and God Cirilla made it 100 times worse. That little rascal learned the tune at heart, he would find her mumbling the tone 24/7, and is not like she didn’t have a nice princess voice, but DAMN IT! At that point, it felt like a mock. And on top of that, even if that sweet princess was fierce, she was a princess, what meant even more inns than walking with the flamboyant bard, more food, more money, and getting fewer jobs done because you aren't supposed to leave a little girl alone on a rusty inn and way less to let her tag along while you kill a 2x2 monster aiming at your head. 

And so they got to a new town, the girl needed new boots and he needed alcohol way too bad, peace for like 2 seconds, but… no.

Do you hear that? Doesn’t it sound beautiful? - She was excited, softly spinning around. 

Slowly as the trust in between her and the witcher was growing, she was turning more into a lovely child, and not a feral beast, because she did know that anyone trying to hurt her would meet the claws of the white wolf and somehow for once he was to agree with her, it sounded nice, very soft, even sweet tune, calming. Probably a mother, or a lady, too nice and delicate to be a man. (How wrong he was) Anyways it came from the nearest tavern, so a blessing, he would get the ale, and she would sit down and be quiet for a short time. 

They got in and he sat down with a beer, Ciri was instantly lost in the crowd rolling around the music and he left a soft sigh, why were kids so freaking reckless all the time, couldn't she just sit down on the table? The music was the same… right there or on the feet of whoever was playing but no… She had to go expose herself like always. 

~~

Jaskier was playing right in the middle sitting on an old stool making the cords plug slow. He learned to relax with it, being the center of attention offered him safeness, being surrounded by a crowd meant no one would steal from him, try to stab him, rob him, or… worst. Because a poor mute music boy was such an easy target, even if at this point that was bullshit, he learned along the way, not only to listen but also to defend himself, not good enough to hunt but good enough to stab to not be stabbed. He breathed in and kept playing the tune, looking at a little hairball sitting on the floor, a little boy or girl, he wasn’t quite sure but it wasn’t uncommon to have children sit on his feet so he smiled leaning over so they could see better how he played. 

Something more joyful would be an idea, the tunes were getting kinda sad, and having a kid there the best would be something funnier. He wasn’t quite happy about playing ~toss a coin to your witcher~ but he knew that was probably known enough for the kiddos to singalong and he was no party pooper so he started, and oh surprise, a shiny white smile, she liked it, no doubts of it. Now he could see it clearly, a little lady, signing, she came from a great family no doubts, a good voice, a sweet tone, educated, she definitely knew the letters and made him kind of proud. What would such a sweet child do in a tavern like that, who was the brute who would let her do that? What an unconscious parent she must have had. 

The song was done and it made him happy, to feel a little of what it used to be, to have a tavern enjoy themselves in such a messy fun way, and the coin flew wild before he got back to his acoustic songs. He was about to play another one when he looked at the child again, she looked tired, her clothes were kind of rough, and she was hungry. Was she alone? Maybe she lost her family? Or… Did they lose their money? He felt pity so he took some of the coins from the song she sang and gave them to her, nodding with his head, trying to say, go get food, you earned this by yourself it’s no pity or shame. 

~~  
She was so confused, the song was so fun, and she loved it, but hearing her own stomach growl ashamed her a little, more when he gave her money without saying anything else, that was odd, but she couldn't feel him bad. She wasn’t the kind to trust a stranger, but she followed her gut and took the money going back to the table where Gerald was so he ordered her food. 

The witcher was so annoyed at this point, WHY? For God's sake, the bard had to play that song, from all the songs it could play? He was enjoying it, the soft tunes even without letter sound calming but all his relax to shit, because that little pitched voice of his cub had to sing along and then all the bar had to sing along, and he just wanted his ale, wanted to calm the freak down but NOO the world never sings at the tune of whatever the witcher wants. When she came back he wanted to strangle her, but that wasn’t ethical or moral, but he wanted bad. He had to look twice at her little hand when she placed the coins over the table demanding food. 

Where did that come from? - He was interrogative, did she just… steal it? Not like he wasn't proud of the skill but wasn’t quite fonded with stealing from poor bards on the way.

He gave it to me… for the song, I didn’t steal it! - She sounded so mad, it could get inside his head like magic, sometimes I doubted if it was indeed magic. 

Fine… but don’t do this, and don’t accept money from strangers and less men of arts, they think when his dick. - With a groan and got to the counter, he wasn’t going to use that money but was no bad at making her think she earned it, he was going to give it back to the poor loser who felt pity for her. 

~~ 

The music faded and the bard got to the counter, he was hungry too by now he raised his hand making eye contact with the person at the bar softly patted his own lips letting them know they wanted something to eat. He sat down distracted trying to come up with a new song patting gently over the wood on the table when he felt a presence, something big and scary like a wolf, he didn’t want to be in trouble so early so he holds into the knife ready for anything that was going to come except for that. 

~~ 

He was going to give it back, just to give her money back, that's it, nothing had to go wrong but oh Melitele what a joke. Things going easy? To Geralt of Rivia? Pff let me laugh a second. Out of all the bards in the country it had to be that one. How… How was he supposed to just go there, and… Well, Interact. It had been what… a year? More? Less? He had no concept of time at this point and he ended up well… he didn’t end things well. He kind of expected him to just… stay… Like always but he didn’t he left and he had no idea of how to fix that. And then he turned and he looked at him and he was so different and he looked so mad, and he just didn’t know what to do, or say or anything really.

~~ 

The bard had so many feelings, God so long, it had to be. He kind of wished just to die before meeting him again at this point because he didn’t want to hear it, hear him mock how he lost his voice and how finally he would be freaking silent and he could take a nap. And after that, the anger, because… he was just standing there, like an idiot. And no no no, not this time, he deserved an apology, not a dumb ass face. He got progressively madder and madder as he wasn’t saying anything at all. 

“Come on, I'm the mute one! Brod... SOMETHING YOU DUMBASS”

Fuck he was so mad that got up from the stool looking at him on the eyes waiting for him to do anything.

~~ 

His witcher senses were going nuts, something was off His hair? It definitely had some grey strands, but that was normal aging. His eyes maybe? No, they just look so mad. The knife? Since when Jaskier, who was a literal flower, carried a knife? And then he started noticing the rest, it wasn’t just the hair, all of him looked a bit more, secure, his hands weren’t as soft, he fought? His face… had some marks… even a scar. What happened to him when he left? Was all that his fault? 

Why wasn’t he talking? Was he that mad? Mad enough not to talk to him. What was he supposed to say or do? He looked at him getting up, and was he going to beat him? It was still a peep squeak, it could bend him over in half a second but he wasn’t going too. And then nothing… not a scream? Not even a sound of disapproval? Anything? 

He felt like if he was aging by seconds too, why wasn’t social interaction easier? He deep breathed and hold his world for a few seconds, he clearly didn’t want anything with him so what made sense was returning the money and go back to their separate lives.

You gave this to Cililla… and… I want you to keep it, probably you will need it more than us… I’m glad you are doing fine Jaskier.  
~~ 

He was going to kill him. That’s what he had to say? After so long? After everything?

“You know what… fuck you Gerald” He didn’t say it but he thought about it and got way more near crossing his face with the whole palm. What hurt, sincerely hurt more than what he expected it would, and he did by now already slapped several persons, but fuck his cheekbones were made of steel or something. He did head to his room waiting to leave already because fuck that, and fuck Geralt of freaking Rivia. 

~~ 

Well he was stunned, that was not what he was expecting.

Did you make him mad? - Cirilla was a little smarty pants child, and he liked to be in the middle of everything all the time. 

He is an old friend.

That's how you treat your friends?

Cub… - She was so annoying sometimes.

But she kept insisting and he had no heart for that, he kept brooding and waiting for her to get bored but no, she kept going about how that’s not how you treat a friend, also he seems nice, and was nice to her, and how he should go right there and apologize for what he’s done. 

FINE! I will go ok! Will that make you quiet for 5 min? - She was way worse than Jaskier, sometimes manipulating him with that pout, was going to go there, and make things right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I accept ideas, constructive criticism, and love.
> 
> See you next time loves! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it!?
> 
> YEAH! Cool! I promise to keep updating this. 
> 
> Please send me your love, send me your ideas, send me whatever!
> 
> You all are fucking awesome for making it here.


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